Eye of the God (19 page)

Abby shook her head. “There is no way the Smithsonian will go for it.”

“Go for what?”

Abby tried to find a way to explain Alex's suggestion. While scrubbing floors the night before she had written the idea off as ridiculous, but after a night of fitful dreams, she woke this morning with second thoughts. She
always cleaned when she had a lot on her mind, which was a trait she was particularly grateful for. Her mother had sat and stared out the window when thinking, and as a result, little or nothing had ever been done around their home. Angela Mitchell's mental illness had rendered her nearly catatonic by the time Abby was seven, and Abby had to leave her mother and go live with her father.

Although she no longer lived in a pigsty, she had in many ways lost both parents. Instead of caring for her himself, her father had sent her off to one boarding school after another, spending only the required school breaks with her. Even then, she was attended to mostly by servants and nannies. Some would have considered her life privileged and pampered. To Abby it was an aching lesson in loneliness. When it came time for college, her father wanted her to attend Cambridge. She chose Boston College, both to spite him and to be near the memory of her mother. What little relationship she maintained with her father through the years fractured after she graduated, despite the fact that she chose Cambridge for her doctoral work. Neither of them had made much of an attempt to restore it since. With the exception of a rare bribe given in place of affection, Abby had little contact with him. Yet, even though she tried to ignore it, there was a latent desire to know her father.

“Abby?” Dow asked, looking at her quizzically.

“Yes? What?”

“You just zoned out on us there. What were you going to say?”

“Sorry.” She shook her head. “I was trying to figure out how to explain it without giving you a stroke, and I wandered off on another train of thought.”

“Just spit it out, dear,” DeDe said.

Abby took a deep breath. “I want to wear the Hope Diamond during my speech at the Smithsonian.”

Stunned silence.

“I know. It's crazy. It makes no sense. And there's no chance Dr. Trent will let me do it.” She looked at their incredulous expressions. “You don't have to say it. I know it's insane. But just think about it for a moment. This is the Hope Diamond. It hasn't been worn by a single human being since Michelle Pfeiffer modeled it for an article in
Life
magazine in 1995. And this event is a big deal. Hundreds of people are coming to celebrate its anniversary. And—”

There was a twinkle deep within DeDe's black eyes. “I think it's brilliant.”

“You
what
?”

“I think it would accomplish the very thing you want.”

“But they will never let you do it,” Dow said.

“Never.” Abby shook her head.

“But it would be brilliant,” he added.

Abby gauged her next comment carefully. “It wasn't my idea.”

Dow's eyes narrowed. “It wasn't?”

“Alex suggested it.”

“That's interesting.”

“He thinks it would create an aura of jealousy in the women attending. You know, me wearing something they couldn't buy with all their money. He seems to think they would write bigger checks in an effort to outdo each other.”

“Well, first off, you wouldn't need to wear the Hope Diamond to make those women jealous. But he is right about the rest. It would have that very effect.”

“But, once again, it will never happen. There is no way they will let me take that diamond out of the case.”

“You don't know that,” Dow said with a shrug.

“I'm pretty sure.”

DeDe grinned maliciously and slid next to Abby on the couch. She rested her hand on Abby's arm. “My dear,” she said. “These are
men
we are talking about.”

“Yes, exactly. Hardheaded, stubborn, arrogant men.”

“Precisely.”

“What?”

“There is no surer way to get what you want with a group of men than to pit one ego against another.”

“Ego is something they have in great supply. But I still don't see a way to convince Dr. Trent and Daniel Wallace to let me wear the Hope Diamond. It's simply absurd.”

“But my dear, you don't have to convince them of any such thing.”

“What do you mean?”

DeDe shrugged. “You just need to let them think it's their idea.”

Dow laughed. “Do you see why I married this woman? She's ruthless.”

“I didn't realize that was a character trait you admired in a woman.”

“Always.”

Abby turned back to DeDe. “Pray tell, how might I convince those men that it is their idea?”

DeDe draped an arm over Abby's shoulder and led her to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and a strategic planning session.

14

T
HE CURSOR ON ABBY'S LAPTOP BECKONED. THE CLOCK INCHED TOWARD
six o'clock, and she stared at the stack of papers on her desk: release forms, security procedures, invitation lists. They all needed attention hours ago. Yet her thoughts returned to the unfinished speech on her computer screen.

“I don't have time for this,” she murmured, trying to squelch the sudden burst of inspiration. “I need to get this paperwork done.” But try as she might, Abby could not stifle the train of thought. She shoved the papers to the corner of her desk and pulled her laptop forward.

She reread her last entry, allowing her mind to orient to its point in the story.

The diamond, now referred to simply as the French Blue, was placed in King Louis XIV's Cabinet of Curiosities sometime between 1669 and 1673. Apparently, the king was unconcerned with the illicit history surrounding his favored trinket and went about his business with little thought to the supposed curse. The diamond was soon recut by the court jeweler, Sieur Pitau, and
reduced to just over half its former size. Weighing in at just over 67 carats, it was worn by the king either as a brooch or as a necklace suspended on a pale blue ribbon.

The reign of Louis XIV was marked by a single venture—the building of Versailles. In so doing he acquired the nickname of the Sun King for his belief that, as king, he bathed the common man in his glory. Yet this glory did not come without a price to those same commoners, as the funding for the world-renowned palace fell solely on their shoulders. It was an era of exorbitant taxation and the emergence of divine kingship.

As a monarch, Louis's obsession with jewels grew along with the scope of his elaborate lifestyle. He commissioned an entire room on the south side of Versailles solely for the exhibition of the crown jewels, which he put to regular, personal use. Visiting nobles were often lent the jewels during their stay, and Louis delighted in such ambassadors partaking in the abundance of his generosity. Yet there was one diamond that was never worn by friend or mistress. That sole jewel, deep blue in color, was preserved as the king's favorite adornment, and it was only on occasion that it graced his own person.

Abby followed the story on the screen, mouthing the words as she read them. Then she placed her fingertips on the keyboard and added the thoughts that were bubbling in her mind.

After 72 years of rule, King Louis XIV died. Although it certainly would have brought him satisfaction, the great monarch was unable to
take his precious jewel with him into eternity. Instead, it passed to his great-grandson, a five-year-old boy who became King Louis XV. As is often the case during times of peace and great prosperity, those who find themselves with an abundance of time and wealth tend to squander both.

At a mere thirty years of age, King Louis XV was knighted into the Order of the Golden Fleece, a social status with little more significance than a gentlemen's club. Yet to the king, a man obsessed with status and titles, it was an honor that he believed should be recognized by all who laid eyes on him. So it was with no small amount of pomp that he commissioned the design of an elaborate brooch, containing no small number of stunning jewels, the centerpiece of which became the infamous French Blue. Once completed, the Golden Fleece was valued at almost 1.3 million livres, or the equivalent of 7.3 million dollars in today's currency.

Louis XV's reign was marked by self-absorption that left his nation in financial ruin. Lacking the moral fortitude necessary to lead well and endure sacrifice, he died just as he lived—a weakling. King Louis XV succumbed to smallpox in the palace built by his great-grandfather. Bourbon tradition insisted that the ruler's heart be cut out and placed in a special coffer. Yet this king was the first monarch not to have that “honor” bestowed on him. Instead, those preparing the body poured alcohol into his coffin and soaked his body in quicklime. He was given an uneventful late-night burial. It was attended by a single courtier.

Abby typed quickly, her thoughts racing ahead of her fingers. Although she never stopped writing, she often closed her eyes, seeing the picture in her mind. It was a fluid moment, the kind writers strive for in their storytelling, where thought and motion blend without effort. She smiled.

Though many who believe the Hope Diamond to be cursed would look at the lives of both Louis XIV and Louis XV and believe them to have led somewhat pleasant, uneventful lives, it can be noted that they possessed a jewel that robbed them of the ability to truly enjoy their lives. It makes one wonder if there is no greater curse to endure that that of a never-ending discontentment. Yet, the saga of the Hope Diamond does not disappoint those who wait for it to strike its victims with cruelty. And a student of the jewel does not have to wait long to see two of the greatest monarchs in history meet a grisly fate at the cold and uncaring whim of the Hope Diamond. For next in line to the throne of France was a man born with the name Louis Auguste. History knows him as King Louis XVI, and his wife bears the renowned and unfortunate name of Marie Antoinette.

Abby settled back in her chair, satisfied with her words and the abundance of text that preceded them. Even as she told this story, she understood the part she played in it.

The indoor climbing wall at Chimborazo was the first of its kind in Washington, D.C., and as far as Isaac Weld was concerned, the best. Frequented mainly by serious climbers it was free of the usual distractions: youth groups
blaring obnoxious Christian music, corporations on team-building events, and amorous couples on the ever pressing third date who would rather be in the darkness somewhere groping one another.

He walked into the upscale training facility in his usual climbing gear: cargo shorts, baseball cap, white tee shirt, and running shoes. Isaac paid the fee at the front desk, but was followed to the four-story wall in the back by an eager attendant wearing a name tag that read Wyatt.

“Hey, sir,” he called after Isaac. “Excuse me.”

Isaac turned, in no mood to chat with a post-pubescent college student. “Yes?”

“If you're heading to the back wall you gotta pass the belay test,” he said apologetically. “Sorry, man, but it's the rules.”

Isaac cast a glance at the towering façade, pockmarked by neon-colored foot- and handholds. It swept upward, bulging irregularities in its surface, and was one of the better attempts to imitate a natural surface. “Let's get it over with then.”

Wyatt led him to the back and collected a series of harnesses, carabiners, ropes, and rappelling gear. By the time the young man finished and turned around, Isaac had vanished. “Hey, man, I thought you wanted to climb,” he shouted through the empty room, his voice echoing off the high ceiling.

“I do,” Isaac responded from twenty feet above, dangling like a spider by his fingertips from a three-inch handhold. He swung his legs forward, planting his toes in a small crack, and pushed himself higher, quad muscles straining against his skin.

The young man watched with gaping mouth as Isaac traversed the man-made cliff, swinging lithely from one
outcropping to the next with no ropes or rappelling gear. Once he ascended the forty-foot precipice, Isaac maneuvered back and forth across its face, testing his strength against the various handholds and chimney climbs. Finally satisfied with his ability to best the wall, he shimmied down the surface and stood before the stunned attendant.

“You said something about a belay test?”

Wyatt held the ropes in his hand, watching a single bead of sweat roll down Isaac's temple, his breath barely accelerated. “Man, I've never seen anything like that. How long you been climbing?”

Instead of answering, Isaac turned his back and sprang five feet into the air, latching onto the surface of the wall like a spider monkey. Then he climbed the course again, this time with his eyes closed.